02-25-2021, 05:36 PM
WORSHIP
There is something soothing in the way she speaks.
He thinks he would be all right if hers was the last voice he ever heard.
If he left here and staggered through the desert for the rest of his life and heard nothing again but this poetry. Her dreams of dragons, terrible and fearsome. A thing that could not be touched unless she allowed it.
Is he a dragon in his dreams of ruin?
No, there are no wings. No scales.
He cannot be touched in these dreams but only because the things that touch him die.
Everything dies.
He opens his eyes and studies her face. Such a lovely face. Does she know how fearsome she is already? Does she know that mortals should shudder to touch her already? Cut him open and he will bleed poetry at her feet. He was built to worship her and her alone.
He swallows.
“No one should touch you unless you wish it now,” he tells her.
“But my dreams are not like that. I’m no dragon,” he confesses. “I am a serpent.”
But he knows, too, that they are not merely dreams. He knows that the thing he is in his dreams is a thing that lives beneath his skin. It lives inside him. A terrible thing clawing at him to get out.
“A dreadful thing. A thing that kills with a glance.”
He does not know if this part is true or if this only part of the dream.
“A thing of scorched earth.” He shakes his head. Mournful.
Such an ugly thing. Such a stark contrast to the thing stood before her now.
“I fear it is not just a dream,” he whispers, averting his gaze again.
He thinks he would be all right if hers was the last voice he ever heard.
If he left here and staggered through the desert for the rest of his life and heard nothing again but this poetry. Her dreams of dragons, terrible and fearsome. A thing that could not be touched unless she allowed it.
Is he a dragon in his dreams of ruin?
No, there are no wings. No scales.
He cannot be touched in these dreams but only because the things that touch him die.
Everything dies.
He opens his eyes and studies her face. Such a lovely face. Does she know how fearsome she is already? Does she know that mortals should shudder to touch her already? Cut him open and he will bleed poetry at her feet. He was built to worship her and her alone.
He swallows.
“No one should touch you unless you wish it now,” he tells her.
“But my dreams are not like that. I’m no dragon,” he confesses. “I am a serpent.”
But he knows, too, that they are not merely dreams. He knows that the thing he is in his dreams is a thing that lives beneath his skin. It lives inside him. A terrible thing clawing at him to get out.
“A dreadful thing. A thing that kills with a glance.”
He does not know if this part is true or if this only part of the dream.
“A thing of scorched earth.” He shakes his head. Mournful.
Such an ugly thing. Such a stark contrast to the thing stood before her now.
“I fear it is not just a dream,” he whispers, averting his gaze again.
you were the boat that breached in the tale of conrad
oh, i loved you with the good and the careless of me
but it all goes bad
oh, i loved you with the good and the careless of me
but it all goes bad
@[Stellaria]